


Metal Love

by HandsAcrossTheSea, trashhearts67



Series: alpha4alpha [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean Winchester, Alpha Sam Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bottom Dean Winchester, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Self-Lubrication, Top Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-12-30 21:06:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18322046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsAcrossTheSea/pseuds/HandsAcrossTheSea, https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashhearts67/pseuds/trashhearts67
Summary: Dean just wants to make Sam's birthday as special as possible.But all Sam really needs to celebrate is his brother.Timestamp #2 in the alpha4alpha verse





	Metal Love

**Author's Note:**

> These fics have a tendency to write themselves over a lot of shouty text messages where we get very excited about the trash we are making, and only after careful editing do they actually start to look like something. No one ever said that we weren't the utmost professionals at this, of course.

Sioux Falls City Limits.

Dean breathes a sigh of relief, fourteen hours of driving and shit weather near its end. They've been hauling ass since sun-up, what of it they could see. A front  had been accompanying them since they left eastern Washington that morning, and Dean’s so fucking sick of rain that he’s starting to pray for a drought. He’d even gone so far to check if they’ve pissed off some old god that’s deliberately making the thunder and lightning follow them - it’s sad that it’s not out of the realm of possibility.

They’ve been on a string of brutal, horrible hunts. The latest of which had been a full fucking nest of vamps, and one of them had gotten a little too close to Dean. Had scratched him, right across the chest, leaving gashes and his shirt torn.

Sam had lost it.

Actually, fully, lost it.

Dean’s seen Sam kill plenty of times now. He’s a natural with a machete, knife, ax - all of it becomes an extension of his body. That vamp was dead five seconds later, its blood spurting all over Dean’s face, Sam’s too. The roar Sam had let out had nearly made _Dean_ wet himself, because he was so fucking pissed one of them had laid a hand on him. Dean managed to get two more - the other six went to Sam. Five killed so fast Dean couldn’t keep track, and then when his machete had finally snapped on number five, Sam had kicked the last vamp in the chest and pinned him to the ground, wrenching the head free of the neck.

Completely free.

Sam had ripped the head off of a fucking vampire, and then gotten up to look for more - but there hadn’t been, just Dean, nothing but them and a whole lot of blood. For about thirty seconds, Dean was sure Sam had gone feral. Evolution had bred the fangs out of them about a thousand years before their time, but Dean could have sworn he’d seen them start to drop.

He’s been scared out of his mind plenty of times before then, but never so badly as when Sam had started for him and Dean thought he’d be next. Sam had fallen to his knees before him, sobbing, homicidal rage leaving him saking and badly in need of… hell, Dean didn’t even know. Just to not be in a homicidal rage. It shouldn’t have come as a shock, to see Sam single handedly attempt vampire genocide - they’ve nearly killed for less. A month ago, someone had called Dean pretty within earshot of Sam and the guy had gotten his jaw broken. Possessive motherfucker, and Dean hadn’t been able to apologize before Sam had realized what he’d done and grabbed Dean by the collar to get them out. Like someone was going to chase them and pick a fucking fight.

That had all been  two days ago, and Sam’s barely said a word to him or anyone else since then. He’s been quiet, and Dean’s left him alone as best as he could. That massive dump of adrenaline, his alpha taking over completely, it hasn’t exactly given Dean the warm fuzzies. Most of the time, his own biology is chill with their nature, but every now and then, nature reminds him that they’re killers, efficient, reactionary weapons that if they get too sharp, too near each other, well… they sink into whatever flesh is available.

Dean does everything he can to try and avoid being that victim.

He reaches over and puts his hand on Sam’s thigh, rousing him from his sleep. Sam stirs, automatically reaching for Dean’s wrist and wrapping his fingers around it.

“We there yet?”

“Soon,” Dean promises. Bobby’s on a hunt in Michigan for another week, and he’d given them the go ahead to lay low there for a few days. They both need rest, Dean needs to keep an eye on him without distractions for a bit, and, to put the cherry on top, Sam’s going to be twenty nine in two days’ time. The last one before dirty thirty.

Dean really doesn’t want to spend it in some half star motel with nasty stains in the floor and a monster breathing down their necks. It’s as close to a four walled home as they’ve got, and Dean’s going to make sure they’re comfortable. Even if it is in a couple of twin beds they outgrew a decade ago and Sioux Falls isn’t the most happening place on earth - whatever. Dean’ll get food, make Sam dinner, they’ll watch some movies, suck each other’s tongues. Sam hasn’t exactly expressed interest in actively wanting anything tangible, so Dean will give him his guaranteed fix.

They roll up to the house, dark save for a security light right over the front steps. Dean gets out first, hauling their bags out while Sam punches in the security code - they aren’t going to get caught in any Springer Enterprises (patent pending) traps. Not tonight, when there’s probably beer and deer sausage.

Old Spice and ancient leather greets them when they walk through the door, just the same as it always has. The only things that really ever change are the amount of books that pile up and the dust that collects in the corners, and the familiarity makes a knot unwind in Dean’s chest.

“Hungry?”

Sam nods, tilting his head to the stairs. “I’ll take these up if you wanna get dinner started.”

“Knock yourself out.” Dean hands over their bags and stays in place until he sees Sam’s booted feet disappear up the stairwell, heading for the kitchen to see what Bobby’s got.

There isn’t much, but Dean does find a fresh carton of eggs, bacon, and some cheese. It’s not the deer sausage sliders he wanted, but he can make a frittata still. At this late hour, that’s probably all he’s good for making anyway.

Right as he’s about to crack eggs over the pan, Sam calls “Hey Dean, come up here a minute.”

Sam’s standing in the doorway, eyes glassy with unshed tears: Bobby had replaced the two old twins with a new queen, headboard and all. On the bed there’s a Wal-Mart bag with a note attached, inside it new sheets and a comforter set.

_Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday, to both of you._

_For the love of God, wash  them when you’re done._

_-Bobby_

The queen probably isn’t truly big enough, but they practically sleep on top of each other anyway, so Dean’s not about to complain. Most of the time, a king sized bed isn’t necessary anyway, so Bobby probably made the right call on this one. It doesn’t sag, the mattress is name brand - it’s about as nice of a gift as Dean could think of.

“What… what’s for dinner?” Sam’s breath hitches, wiping his eyes as he turns away, focusing on Dean. “It’s not any of his frozen stew, is it?”

“You really think I’d torture you with it? C’mon, Sammy, I’m not a sadist.”

Sam arches an eyebrow, snorts a laugh. “Bad to lie, Dean.”

“Fine - frittatas, and you’re on assistant duty.”

“You mean vegetable chopping duty.”

Dean rubs his shoulder, smirking. “You’re learning, finally.”

Sam rolls his eyes and heads downstairs, shoulders stretching the fabric of his t-shirt enough that Dean hangs back for a second to enjoy the view. His alpha, his little brother, so goddamn big and terrifying - and all of it for Dean to touch whenever he wants. Makes something warm swell in the pit of his stomach, and before he follows, Dean goes over to his bag and finds his collar. It’s been a couple years since Sam had it made for him, and since then, Dean still doesn’t feel like he’s worn it nearly often enough. Tonight is one of those where he actively wants to have it against his skin, and maybe… maybe Sam needs to see him in it. They literally can’t be forced apart, and Dean knows there are still times when Sam’s convinced himself they can be. Worrier Supreme, that’s Sam, even though he knows better.

It makes Dean’s heart clench, frustrated that he can’t get past Sam’s damn mind. The thing the other day, in the vamp nest, under any other circumstance - any omega worth their own preservation would have bailed. Seeing an alpha lose it like that, it’s _terrifying._

Dean swaps out his t-shirt for one that Sam’s already worn, too big at the neck but mostly fitting otherwise - even if he does keep flashing more of his chest than intended. That’s completely Sam’s fault anyway, can’t seem to find anything that doesn’t show off his tits. Whatever. Dean has no issue with seeing them, the top edge of his anti-possession tattoo peeking out from under his neckline, the tease of chest hair no matter where you look - that’s Sam, attractive without even fucking trying. Dean isn’t mad about it, but Sam could be a little more smug. He’s hot, and Dean needs him to know it, and not just show off for him.

He finds Sam dicing chives - he missed those in his initial scan - and between the musk of his borrowed shirt and Sam looking like a damn meal with that knife in his hand, that warm feeling in his stomach spreads out further. “I think these are reasonably fresh,” Sam says, still looking down at the cutting board. “But when’s the last time you saw Bobby put chives in _anything_?”

“Cause he knew you were comin’, princess.” Dean pokes Sam’s side and Sam bats him away, turning to look where he’s aiming and - “you…” Sam touches his neck, and Dean tilts his head so that Sam’s fingers can run along the edge of the leather.

“Wanted to wear it,” Dean says. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”

“And that’s my shirt, too.” Sam’s fingers wander down his throat, until they’re starting to caress his sternum. “Still smell salt-burn on it.”

“It’s musky.” Dean heats up a pan and starts cracking eggs, whipping them and adding cheese as he goes. “Unless you just don’t me to smell like you anymore, can always find some Stetson or what’s that other one, uh… the horse stuff.”

“Polo?”

“Mmm. So until you start sweatin’ into bottles…”

Sam laughs, enough to make his dimples pop. “You’d wear it, wouldn’t you?”

“I’m a little offended that you have to ask.” God, he really doesn’t know how much Dean would like that, does he? Anytime he has the chance to get a little more of Sam’s scent on him, he takes it. There’s a reason it’s been a long, long time since Dean’s asked for two queens, just so that he can wake up with his face shoved in Sam’s chest or neck and the first thing before he even opens his eyes - the first - is getting to experience Sam.

“Weirdo.” Sam nudges him with his elbow and Dean nudges back, and dinner shapes up to be pretty fucking delicious. Sam makes coffee, rich, strong stuff that they normally don’t get to drink. Dean ends up with two cups in him, content and warm and full, and even though they’re both weary he isn’t ready for bed just yet. Sam keeps looking at his collar, then Dean’s face, then back down at whatever’s in front of him, trying to hide that he’s turned on. Dean thinks it’s almost cute, but he can smell it, the longing for touch, closeness, all of those things that mates are supposed to give each other on a consistent basis. They haven’t done that since Sam’s killing spree, and it has way more to do with Sam being afraid of himself than any lack of want on Dean’s part.

He won’t push him into it, not yet. It has to be Sam’s decision - but Dean’s ready when he is.

Sam’s drying dishes as Dean hands them over, gnawing his lip and glancing in Dean’s general direction every few minutes. “I never uh, apologized.”

“For what?”

Sam dries his hands, fiddling with the rag. “After I was done, and nearly came to-”

“Sam, I know. I know you didn’t mean it. He’s pretty hard to turn off when he takes over, believe me, I know. But you-”

Sam turns, grabbing Dean’s wrist. “Ten more seconds and it would have been your head on the ground too.” He’s got this really shitty, haunted look in his eyes, and Dean hates it for him. It’s the job, it fucks with you - and letting protective instinct take over anything resembling clear headedness is unpredictable, at best. “And… God, Dean, I couldn’t…”

“But you didn’t. ‘M right here, Sam. No one here but us.” Dean swallows against the hollow feeling in his chest, touching Sam’s cheek. “Think it’s worth losing a little bit of control verses letting those motherfuckers walk free, don’t you? Look - the scars aren’t even as bad as they were yesterday.” Dean lifts his shirt, guides Sam’s hand to his chest. There are only faint white lines there, the wounds mostly superficial to start with. Sam traces over them, eyes locked on his skin.

“Still got you, Dean.” He doesn’t stop touching him, even when Dean lets go of them hem and Sam’s fingers drift towards his left nipple, hard between smelling Sam’s arousal and two fucking days of not getting to have him, knotted up and full, just where Dean wants him. “Shouldn’t….”

“All over, Sammy.” Dean leans closer, looking up at him, jaw and cheeks covered in a four day beard, his eyes softening. “And that feels really nice, too.” Sam drags the pad of his thumb over Dean’s nipple again, rougher this time. “Missed this.”

Sam nods, his other hand curled against Dean’s hip, anchoring him in place as he explores his chest. He rubs, pinches, tugs, and every single touch makes lightning zap across Dean’s skin. He feels himself get wet alarmingly fast, legs spreading of their own accord against the slick feeling as it makes its way down his thighs. Sam pauses, nostrils flaring, and lips parting to taste the air.

“A lot?”

“You think there’s a second of the day I don’t want you filling me up, alpha?”

Sam closes the gap between them so fast that it steals Dean’s breath for a second, overwhelmed by the suddenness and size of Sam right against him, bigger than big and this is always his favorite part, that brief, sure moment of surrender. His mouth covers Dean’s, hungry, dying for another taste, another in an endless series of them. Sam’s tongue finds his, and it’s good, better than good, always better after a couple of days of denial that neither of them asked for. Sam still has his hand under Dean’s shirt, fingers splayed out over his chest, right over his heart.

The edge of the counter ends up digging into Dean’s back, Sam keeping him pinned, hardly any effort needed for it. He dips his head, nips Dean’s jaw, moves his hand up so that both of them are over his chest. Dean finally pulls it off, amulet nestling warm and heavy right in the middle.

“Better?”

Sam hums, nuzzling Dean’s face, not fucking giving up on getting Dean even better via his tits. “Think we need some other place than here.”

Dean is all for that, and he’d be okay with the kitchen table. Or the floor. Wherever, just so that he doesn’t have to keep trying to stay upright. Every touch, every time Sam’s teeth find some space that hasn’t gotten attention yet, it’s all adding up to cut his legs out from under him.

“Couch,” Dean grunts, and Sam pulls him to the living room, so fucking turned on that the musk radiating from him makes Dean lightheaded. They narrowly avoid knocking over a pile of books, concerned with precious little beyond getting each other naked. Dean does down on the couch, lying on his back as he watches Sam strip, shirt first, and God, that fucking body, covered in hair, forest of a treasure trail from his navel and down into the low-riding waistband of his jeans. Dean gets ten seconds to admire Sam’s bulge before his pants are gone too, no underwear - motherfucker can’t stand anything cradling his junk aside from Dean, even the Saxx or whatever it was Dean got him for Christmas - and just the sight of Sam’s hard cock is enough to make his mouth water.

“Christ, Sam, hold still a second.” Dean wants to admire the view, jeans off and down his legs in a big damn hurry, boxers gone with them. The scent of his own slick makes Sam’s eyes go dark, hard-coded to reach for Dean’s body before he’s even conscious of it. Sam comes down gently on him, the couch nowhere near big enough for them both to lie comfortably - but they make it work.

“You sure you don’t want me to move?” Sam slides his hands back up Dean’s body, right on his tits again, thumbs and God knows what else scraping rough over his nipples. “Cause it seems like movement is what’s gonna get us where we want to go.”

Dean moans, Sam’s fingers working fucking magic, arching against his hips. Sam’s cock slides against his, slippery with precome - mostly Sam’s, because he’s like a goddamn firehose.

“Inside, Sammy, just…” He doesn’t care beyond that, not right now. He’s trying his damn best to not beg, like he doesn’t need to be constantly full of Sam’s cock. Dean hasn’t ever wanted something so bad in his fucking life, than to be fucked and filled by his alpha. Sammy, God, Sam won the fucking lottery with that one, so goddamn big that any beta would run and Dean, shit, Dean can’t stay away from it.

Sam kisses him again, soothing the fire that’s making Dean flush redder and redder. “Got you, Dean.” He slows down, moving entirely by feeling, eyes half-closed and all Dean sees is his blown out pupils, somewhere between stormy sea grey and green. Dean doesn’t look down, knowing his body is going to open right up for him. Sam guides himself in and Christ, it’s better than any fucking drink Dean’s ever taken in his life, a high that doesn’t lose its potency and Sam, fuck, Sam just gives and gives, lets Dean have his cock as much as he wants it.

He doesn’t stop or slow until his knot is bumping against his rim, bigger than Dean’s, too, not yet ready to plug his come up inside him. Dean groans, head tilting back just for the extra stretch. Makes it feel like Sam’s cock is somewhere behind his tonsils.

“Just… don’t move, Sammy.” Dean opens his eyes back up, vision swimming for just a second and yeah, Sam is still there, his hair folded down across his cheeks. Sam listens, leans down so that his full weight is against Dean’s body, keeping Dean right where he wants him. Another kiss, easy, slow, in no hurry to be anything more than an affirmation that they’re both doing _really_ fucking good right now.

“You feel fucking incredible,” Sam whispers. “God… so fucking good, Dean, so wet for me.” He picks up one of the pillows that Dean knocked off the couch and lifts his lower body up, giving Dean that extra bit of leverage and making sure that Sam’s locked in as deeply as he can go.

“Full,” is all Dean gets out, doesn’t need more than that. Sam is right against his prostate, pushing a drop of come out of Dean without even doing anything, so damn big that it’s being squeezed from him with hardly any effort. Sam reaches for Dean’s weeping cock, jerking him languidly for a moment before he’s licking his fingers clean, does it again and lets Dean taste himself.

           Dean never swapped bodily fluids before Sam - what business does an alpha have getting a taste of his own body? That's for the omegas they're supposed to be breeding. At least that's how it was before Sam tied his knot inside him; now Dean expects to be fed his own slick, no matter where it comes from. Drives Sam crazy to taste it in his mouth, and Dean hungers for it just as badly.

          Sam shifts as he kisses Dean, hard but not insistent, groaning when Dean tightens around him and holds him deep. His hands go to Dean's chest, gripping, squeezing, ecstatic torture that makes Dean feel like he's in the middle of a star. It didn't take long for Sam to piece together that his nipples are hardwired to his cock, his prostate, all those parts that make fucking _magic_ happen.

          “Love your fuckin’ tits, pretty boy.” Sam growls, dips his head and sucks Dean's left nipple between his teeth. Makes Dean's bones rattle, his voice pitched low like that. Loves it when Sam calls him that, _pretty boy,_ and it's only because he is. Likes feeling owned, possessed, and Sam means it every fucking time. Dean gets his right leg around Sam's waist, pulling him closer, deeper, _you like that, Sammy, suckin’ on my tits? -_ and Sam keeps going, rocking into Dean so slowly that at first he thinks it's his imagination.

            Slow burning fire rolls through Dean's guts, dragged out when Sam pulls back, not quite halfway, then dialed back up on the push in. His mouth finds Dean's again, left hand cupping the back of his head while he works Dean's cock with his right. There's no rush to it, not like they're coming down off of a blood rush or one of them nearly died. Dean swings down into it, the pit of his stomach all radiant arousal and fullness. Sam is so fucking deep in him, claimed from the inside out, never going as fast as Dean wants. Dean gets wetter, moans more loudly, the cushions below his ass soaked. Sam's probably dumping as much slick in as he is pulling out, wet, noisy, making Dean's ass a wreck.

              “Wanna come like this, Sammy, just...like this.” Dean can feel it building, any second now and he's going to cover both of them. Almost feels like Sam is holding his ass hostage, messy and damp, and it's too fucking much, an overload of sensation that has Dean's head spinning. Sam hums, kicks back so that he's up on one knee, other foot on the floor and moves awfully fucking close to folding Dean right in half.

             Sam growls, moves his hands to Dean's chest and that's what catapults Dean over the edge, knot catching against nothing as Sam pinches and twists, wringing Dean's come out all over his body. Dean cries, _fuck, Sammy, alpha, that feels so fuckinggoodpleasesdontstop_ and he's done, sobbing with relief, Sam's knot pushing and keeping him spread, pulsing and breeding him deep. Dean has nothing left but the hard, incinerating feeling of Sam lodged in his lower body, teeth sinking into his bottom lip and Sam, nothing but Sam.

“Fucking _hell._ ”

Dean grunts in agreement, covered, wet, sweating, the couch already beyond needing cleaning after they’re done. He’s starting to cramp, Sam’s weight fully against him, but he’ll be damned if he can track down the words to tell Sam that. He thinks there might be a chance that he’ll be leaking come for a week, but if Sam just stays there, he won’t lost a drop of it.  
“Can we…” Dean hopes that the gesture he makes indicates sitting up and Sam nods, pulling them upwards until Sam’s back is against the couch and Dean is facing him, still full of Sam’s dick, hands on his shoulders and watching Sam’s eyes get glassier with bliss.

“You feel like we maybe should get Bobby a new couch?” Sam leans his head back, thumbs rubbing slow, aimless circles in Dean’s hips. He shifts his hips, distributes Dean’s weight a little better - it still makes Dean’s eyes water. Sam isn’t going soft, and the aftershocks are lasting longer than normal. Dean manages a shrug, too drunk and full of cock to bother with any sort of coherent reply.

Sam kisses him again, and it isn’t long before Dean’s feeling sleepy, content - but he isn’t anywhere near ready to be empty.

“Wanna stay like this,” Dean says, amazed that Sam hasn’t softened yet. “But we gotta get up soon.”

“Do we?” Sam doesn’t seem in any hurry to move, lazy and sated as he smiles up at Dean. “Don’t see anyone rushin’ us.” Another kiss, drawn out, and Dean seats himself until he feels Sam’s balls touching his ass.

“If Bobby came back right now, he’d get a hell of an eyeful.” Yeah, Dean’s fucking perfect right now, and he can admit to himself that he’s needy for this, being full of Sam. “Guess he’d just have to wait.”

Dean could care less - it’s not the first time Bobby’s nearly caught them, even if he is a few states away.

“This an early birthday present?” Sam pulls him closer, hands back on Dean’s chest. “Cause if so, this is way better than _any_ stripper.”

“Even come with my own dance moves, but they ain’t happening right now.” Maybe after a few beers and Sam’s found the right song, but if he gets it his way, they won’t be wearing enough clothes for him to take off. “But since I’ve got you here - what _do_ you want?”

“Nothing that I don’t already have, Dean.”

Annoyingly cryptic, but it’s still… comforting.

It doesn’t mean Dean isn’t going to get him _something._

 


End file.
